


Prior

by Birdbitch



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Canon Era, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-29
Updated: 2013-09-29
Packaged: 2018-01-17 18:04:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1397398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Birdbitch/pseuds/Birdbitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras left a party his parents brought him to but got lost somewhere along the line before running into Grantaire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prior

The benefit to his parents dragging him to large parties like this one was the fact that they were so large he could sneak off unnoticed by anybody. Being that he was both bored and irritated by the company, Enjolras took his chance to leave and managed to get away without calling any attention to himself. That’s not to say that on the streets he didn’t—because he was always the kind to draw stares from strangers—but he made it away from the party well enough that he would consider it a success.

And so, Enjolras, seventeen and brash, was on his own.

Which was the trouble, really, because he was on his own and he was unaware of himself. These things happen. He was walking in the direction of a cafe recommended to him by a classmate and found himself suddenly in the world of artists and writers and vagabonds. When he turned around, he was lost, and he stood in the middle of chaos unsure where, exactly, he could go. Beginning to think he made an enormous mistake, he started to run in what he hoped was the direction he came and managed to crash into someone.

“Are you alright?” They spoke simultaneously and Enjolras covered his face in embarrassment.

“Oh, come now, I’m fine.” The man he crashed into helped him to his feet and smiled at him. “You look lost.”

Enjolras didn’t know how to respond. “I am but—I don’t think I want to go back to where I came from,” he said finally, and the man looked like he understood—and perhaps, perhaps he did. He was one of the artists, that much Enjolras could tell—he had a sketchpad and he had charcoal on his arms and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up and he belonged where they stood while Enjolras knew for a fact that he most certainly did not. How else would anyone know he was lost other than the fact that he stood out as being so?

The man held out his hand and Enjolras took it so he could shake it. “I’m called Grantaire,” he said. “Perhaps I can help you.”

Enjolras smiled. “I am Enjolras,” he said. He stood for a moment, unsure what to say or how to speak, before taking the sketchpad into consideration again and asking, “Are you an artist?”

Grantaire laughed and came to stand by Enjolras’s side, bidding him to walk forward. “I’d like to be,” he said, and Enjolras felt embarrassed for asking. “Ah, you’re fretting about it. Do not—there are worse things to be. And you?”

“I suppose I’m a student,” Enjolras answered, attempting to keep pace with Grantaire as they walked through waves of people and towards a crooked standing building. He caught up quick enough, but Grantaire noticed he was falling behind and reached for his hand.

“You’ll get lost in the people if you don’t know where you’re going,” he said gently, and Enjolras nodded.

Grantaire lived in the crooked building, at the top of a long flight of stairs that left Enjolras feeling windless by the time they reached his room. “You do this every day?” he asked, and Grantaire turned around and nodded.

“Of course.”

The room was relatively sparse—there was a bed and what looked like a comfortable blanket and there was a dresser and a desk and a chair, but there were more unfinished pieces of art than furniture and the room itself was something of a mess. Enjolras looked around in something of a daze while Grantaire put the sketchpad down and reached for a bottle of wine that was near the foot of the bed. He decided that he liked the room, and when he looked at Grantaire, he decided that he liked him, too.

“Would you like a drink?” Grantaire offered the bottle towards him and waited for a response. Enjolras came closer and wrapped a hand around the neck of it, accepting the drink and tilting his head back when he drank. He handed the bottle back to an amused Grantaire and wiped his mouth with his coat sleeve.

“Do you mind if I take this off?” he asked, indicating towards the coat, and Grantaire shook his head.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he answered. His own vest was undone, as were the top buttons of his shirt. Enjolras unbuttoned his coat and shrugged it off before sitting down beside Grantaire on the bed.

He looked around himself, accepted the wine when Grantaire offered it, and stared at the art. “It’s lovely,” he said, and he saw Grantaire shake his head and laugh again, and smile spreading over his features. “What? It is!”

“I’ve seen lovelier,” he said, and then he shook his head. “What I do can hardly even compare to the other apprentices.”

Enjolras frowned. “I like it,” he said, and he stood up to walk towards an unfinished painting. It was a female nude with eyes that stared into the soul, and Enjolras had to look away. “Is…she a friend?”

He could hear Grantaire move behind him and the sound of a snort. “Was. We had an argument a year ago.”

“When did you start this painting?”

Grantaire was closer now. “How long ago did I say the argument was?” He looked over Enjolras’s shoulder and sighed. “I should get rid of it. I kept thinking that maybe if I finished it I might be able to apologize and give it to her, but instead it sits here collecting dust.”

Enjolras turned so that he was facing Grantaire, and he stared at their feet. “You should finish it,” he said, “it’s a lovely painting. I’m sure she’d forgive you.”

“Perhaps.” Grantaire left it at that and turned away from Enjolras so he could sit on the chair in front of the desk. The air grew heavy and tense and Enjolras realized that he probably couldn’t spend much more time with his absence from the party completely unnoticed. Even still, didn’t want to leave. “Let’s talk of something else. You said that you’re a student?”

He shrugged. “I suppose,” he answered, and Grantaire rolled his eyes at him. “What?”

“Either you are a student, or you’re not.”

“Then I am.”

“And what do you plan to study?”

Enjolras looked at him with narrowed eyes. “Law,” he said wryly. “There’s—there’s something wrong with the way the government is structured and I can’t do anything about it unless I go into law, but—”

“But it’s not law itself that you’re interested in.”

“I am, to an extent, I guess, I suppose I have to be, but…”

Grantaire nodded. “I believe I understand. You have to know it if you want to change it, yes?”

And Enjolras breathed a sigh of relief. “Yes, that is precisely it.”

“And I suppose your parents—you’ve lead them to believe you’re going into law, and they’re upset by how terribly middle class it is?”

“I take it you’ve seen this before.”

“It’s not necessarily a bad thing,” Grantaire said. “Besides law, what do you study? It’s clearly not art, or else you might understand how terrible these things are—”

“They’re not terrible,” Enjolras protested, and Grantaire shrugged, unwilling to argue further on the matter. “I enjoy philosophy,” he said weakly.

“Then should we talk philosophy?”

It was a welcome recourse, and Enjolras drank more wine as the conversation strayed from discussions of Plato to the ancient world in general. All the while, Enjolras and Grantaire drew closer and closer and Enjolras could not help but lean into the bubble of space around Grantaire and Grantaire smiled and allowed him to press nearer.

But, the night was growing late and it occurred to Enjolras that he had to return at least to the scene of the party, if not attempt to rejoin it. He looked at Grantaire with parted lips before frowning. “I was lost when you found me, but I’m afraid I must leave.”

“Do you know where you’re going?”

“I know the address, but not how to get there.”

Grantaire nodded and sat up, forced Enjolras into a proper sitting position at the same time. “Then I’ll help you get there. I know the city better than I know myself; you’ll be there before they even realized you were missing.”

“Would you do that for me?”

“Of course.” They stood and Grantaire buttoned his shirt and vest while Enjolras donned his coat once again. “Where are we going?”

They were there in less time than it had taken Enjolras to get lost in the first place, and it seemed that it was just in time. The party reached its end perhaps three minutes before Enjolras arrived at the building and he saw his parents filtering out with the other guests. He turned to look at Grantaire and felt an ache in his chest.

“Might—might I see you again?” he asked, and Grantaire looked up at the sky and around them and towards the party guests.

“We might meet again, but I’m not sure when that will ever be,” he answered gently, and Enjolras did not understand. “Go to your family, Enjolras.”

“But—”

“If the stars allow it, we will meet again. I promise you that much.”

“Then I’ll wait until we do.” His face looked like it was carved from marble and Grantaire shook his head. “I will.”

“What will you be waiting for?”

Enjolras smiled. “I’ll be waiting for you.” He pressed his hand to Grantaire’s for one last time before he turned away and caught up with his family.


End file.
